Blueprint Of My Mind

My eyes hold their place amongst the wreckage of my face. I'm thinking, one more cocktail
with this blue-eyed slab, (paid for twice over, but never to be owned), will not subdue the
bestial morning’s sadistic appetite. The secret is out, Fire Island tragedies are lurking
under star-crossed pines in paradise. My eyes are held in place midst the wreckage of my face
by shear will. I think, perhaps one more cocktail with this blue-eyed slab paid for twice
over, but never to be owned, will obliterate a debauched morning hangover. What about an
aspirin or a bloody Mary? Maybe if I take a dive into the raging blue Atlantic waters of
forget me nows, my sins will be erased along with yesterday and my inhuman slurs and beat you
down puns. Even if the divine in divine mind could muster mercy for my soul, yes, even if I
acquiesce and bow to their Latin liturgies, and I finally see that all my prescriptions are
merely the fleeting tonics of a foolish mind, I will never find repose. Consequently, (I will
not deny this) a loaded Colt 45's horsepower is my medicine of choice. What other elixir will
suffice when you wake early on a brand new day and your mirror is exclaiming, "You’re old,
decrepit, and to boot you’re gay? These are but the rage-dreams of a narcissist’s self-
absorbed preoccupation. In ephemeral brevity, my spirits rise high as the sun glides its way
into mid-day. I take a second look at that man in the mirror I know as me. I think the
history of my face and the fractured emerald matrix of my eyes look familiar to me. I
confront myself. Are you ancient splendor garbed in hues of wisdom’s wonders? Or are you a
masked imposter stoking a Fire Island tragedy lurking under star-crossed pines?

05/15/2012

Posted on 05/15/2012
Copyright © 2024 Scott Utley